


A Jedi No Longer

by phenomenology



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-10
Updated: 2015-05-10
Packaged: 2018-03-29 21:05:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3910663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phenomenology/pseuds/phenomenology
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(post Order 66) Fourteen-year-old Caleb Dume is on the run after the brutal massacre of his people. He finds help in an unexpected place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Jedi No Longer

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so I wrote this based off of something dyingsighs.tumblr.com said about Caleb cutting off his own Padawan braid like three months ago. So I know that most of this does not line up with A New Dawn and the Kanan comics. Either way, enjoy!

_Leave all your love and your longing behind_

_You can't carry it with you if you want to survive..._

_The dog days are over, the dog days are done_

_The horses are coming so you better run._

_~ Dog Days are Over_ Florence + the Machine

* * *

 

_They’re gone._

Caleb Dume was crouched behind a stack of crates, his breaths hitching on their way out as he fought to control and contain his emotions. He had been running for what seemed like weeks. But in reality, it had only been about three days. The whole time he was running, moving from alley to alley, all he could think was, _they’re gone_. Caleb supposed that when all you have ever known, your entire way of life _,_ comes crashing down in a matter of minutes, time tended to stretch out. It was almost like the universe wanted Caleb to feel every flash of terror, remember every little thing, and suffer every echo of pain through the Force, over and over, as time elongated.

Another breath caught uncomfortably in Caleb’s throat and the young Padawan felt his chest constrict as he unwillingly remembered the image of Master Billaba shoving him away, telling him to run and not look back. But of course, Caleb had looked back. His punishment for disobeying his Master was that he had to watch her fall to her knees and then crumple to the floor. Caleb had wanted to scream, to run to her aid, to avenge her, _something_.

But he hadn’t done anything.

Caleb had been so stunned that his Master could fall so quickly, in such a mundane fashion, that he hadn’t been able to move for a moment. Master Billaba had always seemed so unreachable by their enemy. She was a Jedi Master. She fought in the war alongside the clones. And then all the clones turned on her. Turned on all of the Jedi. The clones had caught them unawares and took them all out.

Caleb, after seeing Master Billaba fall, had stood frozen and stared at her body for a moment, half expecting her to leap to her feet and continue the battle. But when she didn’t, Caleb had rushed back to her side. He hadn’t stayed long; he hadn’t even gotten the chance to say anything to her. Master Billaba had weakly shoved her lightsaber into his hand and told him yet again to run. As Caleb had moved away in confused fear, his terrified eyes glued to the body of his Master, the clones zeroed in on him.

That was when he remembered how to breathe, how to move, and he ran for his life. As Caleb ran from the clones, from where his Master had fallen, he sensed the moment Master Billaba slipped away. Choking on his fear and sadness, Caleb passed several other Jedi Masters as he ran through the Temple. They had all told him the same thing before rushing off to face the clones. They had all told him to run.

Caleb felt like a coward for not helping his people fight, for abandoning them. Most of them were dead as far as he could tell. The pain in his chest and the constant tremors running through his hands told Caleb that the Jedi had been extinguished swiftly and painfully. This was a rare moment that Caleb wished he wasn’t connected to the Force.

Wiping at his eyes to clear his blurry vision, Caleb tried to take a deep, steadying breath and focus. He knew that he couldn’t continue to wear his robes from the Temple, as it would be a very obvious giveaway. His robes were already tattered and ripped in some places from recklessly running through dirty alleys for the past three days. Wearing them around would mean quick and certain death, anyway. Caleb figured that if he ever needed a way out, he could always adorn himself with his robes again…

Shaking his head, Caleb cleared the suicidal thoughts from his mind and tried to think through the situation with a clear head. He was alone, dressed as a Jedi in the middle of Coruscant, with the clones hunting him and his kind down.

Figuring that replacing his robes with something a little less noticeable would be a good first step, Caleb raised his hood and glanced around the stack of crates. Checking the streets and seeing the pathway empty of hostiles, Caleb darted from behind the crates and started down the alley. He stuck close to the wall of the alley, his hand hovering cautiously over his lightsaber.

Glancing inside a storefront that he passed, Caleb was surprised to see a small rack of clothes pushed up against one of the far walls. Hesitating only a moment, Caleb decided that it was worth the risk of getting caught before he ducked into the store. Caught stealing or running, Caleb would be dead without the change of wardrobe.

Once inside, Caleb pushed his hood back, feeling the soft, familiar weight of the fabric falling around his shoulders and down his back.

Caleb became acutely aware of almost every detail that had once seemed so normal to him. The swish of the material that dragged slightly behind him as he moved, and the feeling of his hood resting around his shoulders now felt more like a protective cocoon than just the weight of his cape. The weight of his Master’s lightsaber against his hip and pulling slightly at his belt where it rested seemed far more present than it ever had. The weight was familiar to the presence of his own lightsaber, which he had resting against his other hip.

Realizing that these things were about to change, were about to no longer be a part of Caleb’s daily life, had made Caleb more aware of these details and he tried to engrain the feeling and the memory into his mind.

Approaching the counter, Caleb found a small, older looking woman sifting through a small box on the countertop. She had a kind looking face from what Caleb could see but he approached slowly and cautiously anyway, reaching out with the Force as he tried to get a read on her.

His approach caused the woman to look up and smile at Caleb. Her bright blue eyes took in his robes and his young face as she gave him a quick scan. For a moment she didn’t move, but then the woman’s smile turned sad and she shuffled out from behind the counter. Caleb knew that word had already gotten around Coruscant, and probably further, about what happened to the Jedi.

“Take whatever you need from the clothes rack, dear,” she said in a soft, gentle voice, resting her wrinkled, frail hand on his shoulder. “I will put some supplies together for you. I can give you directions to a spaceport that will get you off this planet as well.”

Caleb blinked in surprise, the tension leaving his shoulders under her gentle hand. He hadn’t expected her to be so kind, so understanding and not ask a single question.

Caleb gave the old woman a deep bow of gratitude and then straightened up, opening his mouth to ask what he would owe her for her kindness. But almost as if the woman could read his mind, she held up a hand and shook her head.

“No payment is necessary, my dear. The Jedi have always been good people around here. In fact, I owe a Jedi Master my life. It saddens me to think that I won’t ever get to repay that debt to them. So I decided that in order to fulfill that debt, I would help any Jedi that comes through my store trying to flee this horrible massacre. Now hurry! Change your clothes before someone sees you!”

Caleb moved quickly, picking a few articles of clothing that seemed about his size and then following the woman’s gesture towards a small room where he could change.

Once Caleb was finished changing, he folded his robes neatly, piling them on top of each other and carrying them out to the front of the store with him as he rejoined the older woman.

As he approached the counter that she was once again standing behind, the woman pulled a sad expression and pointed to Caleb’s hair.

“I don’t think you should be wearing that around anymore, dear. As much as it pains me to say it, I don’t think you will be needing it anymore either.”

Caleb reached up and wove his fingers around his Padawan braid, rubbing the beads between his fingers as he did. The length of hair draped over the slope of his shoulder, reminding him that his training was nowhere near finished, and most likely never would be.

Sighing heavily, Caleb reached for his lightsaber to cut off the braid when he paused. Shearing off a Padawan braid with one’s lightsaber was a sign of knighthood, only done when your training was finished and the Trials completed. Taking off his braid with his saber would seem hypocritical and terribly wrong now. And he dared not even consider using his Master’s lightsaber to perform the task. But yanking the braid off was almost as bad. That would symbolize a Padawan being banished or disinvited from the Order, and that’s not what Caleb wanted to do.

With a heavy heart, Caleb picked up a small knife that was sitting on display on a nearby shelf and positioned it against his braid. Taking a deep breath, he used the knife to slice off his braid, cringing as he heard the slice go through his hair. Setting the length of hair on top of his robes with a trembling hand, Caleb replaced the knife and tried not to feel as if he had just stabbed himself with it.

Once the knife had been replaced, Caleb unclipped his Master’s lightsaber from his belt and held it in front of him. He traced his eyes over the item, memorizing every detail and every dent and scrape in the metal. Caleb committed the weapon’s design to memory before placing it next to his braid.

“Thank you,” he said after a moment, his voice soft. “Thank you for everything.”

The woman smiled sadly, knowing that Caleb must feel so lost and confused, his entire culture and his home yanked out from under him in a matter of minutes. She reached over the counter to pat Caleb’s hand as he stared at his robes on her countertop with a wistful and broken expression.

“It was no trouble at all, dear. Don’t worry about repaying me, either.” Reaching behind the counter to produce the small bag of supplies she had put together for him, the woman glanced at his Jedi robes piled on her countertop.

“What do you want to do with these? I don’t think it would be wise to carry them around with you.”

Caleb stood staring at the robes, his braid and his Master’s lightsaber for a long, suspended moment, not saying anything. Then he lifted his eyes to the woman, a heavy note of defeat in his voice as he said, “Burn them.”

The older woman seemed startled by this request, asking, “Are you sure?” This was what the Jedi did as a funeral rite. Burned them. They burned dead bodies. And Caleb knew that to survive this, he had to be dead.

Caleb took a deep breath and nodded wearily. “It’s what I want. Who I was as a Padawan in the Order…he died when my Master did. So burn them, please. The robes, the braid and the weapon.”

The older woman studied Caleb’s face for a moment before nodding and pressing the little bag of supplies into his hands and directing him to the spaceport nearby. She warned him to be careful and keep his head down for a while before sending him off and then watched Caleb’s receding figure until he was gone from her sight. Turning back to the pile of robes with the braid and saber lying strewn across them, she shook her head sadly and carried them to the back of her store.

Laying the pile almost reverently into a box, she made sure to preserve the items, thinking to herself that if that boy was a true Jedi, then he would eventually find his way again someday. And she didn’t want to be responsible for the symbolic death of Jedi who had barely even begun his life.

Smiling to herself, the older woman closed the box and went back to the front of her store, hoping that that boy would be okay. As she sifted through some items, she couldn’t help but think…

_They aren’t all gone._


End file.
